Where the Wounded Lay
by Th3Bird0fH3rmes
Summary: This story will have no pairings, unless it's light Temari and Shikamaru, and will focus on the sharp contrast between Gaara and those he considers his best friends. It will also focus on his struggle to remain human. It'll have pretty much everyone from the Sand and the Leaf with the exception of the Uchihas.


_In the sea without lees_

_Standeth the bird of Hermes_

_Eating his wings variable_

_And maketh himself yet full stable_

_When all his feathers be from him gone_

_He standeth still here as a stone_

_Here is now both white and red_

_And all so the stone to quicken the dead_

_All and some without fable_

_Both hard and soft and malleable_

_Understand now well and right_

_And thank you God of this sight_

- The Ripley Scroll

Storms were common in Suna. In summer the sand raged hot and fast, like fire pouring over the village. It scorched whatever it managed to touch and the sloping columns of the natives took it in stride. In winter it was again the sandstorms, but with hail and ice; those caught could freeze to death and the body would be covered in burns, cuts, and shallow scrapes.

Gaara was, most accurately put, the spirit of the desert in flesh. He felt his humanity grow slowly over him like a second skin, which he smoothed down at every opportunity if only to help himself adjust to the sensation. In the evenings he twisted into an upright position and forced himself from his office down to the halls in a well-tread pattern. Mostly he didn't remember moving until he heard the familiar voices of his siblings in the servant's kitchen. Kankuro had started the odd habit of eating hunched over the small wooden table in hard wooden chairs only to avoid their Father but the when the habit stuck he and Temari found it was warmer with the three there together. Gaara on the other hand, felt a foggy sort of relief at the familiarity and ate quietly with the hope that it would help.

It was a good season, there had not been a storm in months and the ground vegetables had been flourishing in their guarded light. But no one at the table had patience for talk of the weather, although perhaps they should have humored it. Their banter had begun before dinner and continued without pause as Gaara seated himself.

"Try being more creative! What would you do?"

Temari contemplated the question while Kankuro worked on a cheek-full of stew. When she spoke it was measured, but a smile played at the edges of her lips.

"I'd be… Under-classed and rise through the ranks by tantrums. With weird Leaf fashions and little regard for how things operate outside of my social circle."

When they both laughed Kankuro sprayed the table with bits of half-chewed food. She recoiled, pulling her hands away as she laughed harder while he mopped it up with his sleeve; red-faced. Gaara bit into a wonton, the sweet bean paste lost on his palate.

His eyes flicked from Temeri's wide, ornery grin to Kankuro's shaking shoulders, to the way they hunched low toward one another even as people moved behind them. Servants prepared food for the rest of the house and chuckled along on occasion. Temari reached over to grab a wonton herself, eyes flicking to acknowledge him for a moment and an almost private smile on her face. He stared back, mouth forming into the proper shape long after she had glanced away. He turned to Kankuro instead, who was chewing half his weight in meat on only one side of his mouth. The older brother took a long time in noticing the scrutiny. When he did finally glance over, he stopped chewing only long enough to spit out a question.

"What's up?"

"Nothing." _Just wanted to mirror your breathing, to remember how to do it evenly._

"Alright I guess." With a shrug he turned back, nonplussed. Temari on the other hand, had been watching Gaara since the first delayed smile.

"How have you been sleeping Gaara?"

The silence turned thicker then the stew. Kankuro fidgeted in his seat, pulling back and straightening up with a loud swallow. When he did speak it was with a false authority.

"Yeah… Any improvements since the new dosage?" The servants moved away, giving the table a wide berth. Gaara continued chewing for another thirteen seconds, counting off the correct time in his head. His response was neat and slow:

"No."

Temari scowled.

"What are those idiots doing? Can't they come up with even a simple remedy?"

"The remedies aren't simple. Many of the necessary ingredients can't survive in Wind Country and are very expensive."

"But they have the ingredients. They shouldn't be messing up like this time and again!"

"They're not the problem. It's me. My body adjusts itself to the medicine very quickly and they have to produce a stronger dose to counter it. But there's a point their trying to keep from reaching when it becomes too strong of a dosage and could put me in-"

"A coma. I know, I know. That's all the medical staff have alerted me to without a kunai in my hand."

Gaara waited, eyes closed, as Temari stabbed at her stew. A chunk of mutton, slathered in the thick broth, was skewed before being popped into her mouth to suffer a grizzly death. Kankuro looked anxiously between the two. It wasn't an argument - nobody argued with Gaara. But it was a sore subject.

When the Kazekage had nightmares there was a natural distress, however Gaara's bad dreams were the first circle of hell on parole. His room had been moved to the top of the central tower, barricaded by iron bars, and affixed with seals on all the openings. In the rare times that he found his body shutting down he dragged himself inside, swallowed a mouthful of bitter yellow pills, and thrashed for a week in half-slumber, half waking-terror. The entire tower was evacuated. His screams alone could clear it. When Temari beat down the door of the medical corps to demand stronger medicine, she had the entirety of Suna on her side but none of the skill. They were at an impasse.

It was always best to be patient at times like this, to work out a solution before acting on it. But Kankuro never applied that; that caution. His eyes focused on Temari, if only because watching Gaara was unsettling.

"We could always ask the Leaf." The Kazekage's eyes remained closed, but he exhaled deeply, fingers tightening on his unused chopsticks. His sister turned back to Kankuro.

"That's what I've been saying. Those 'allies' of ours' should be helping us now." They both looked expectantly at Gaara who opened his eyes slowly, deep fatigue in every leathery crease of the blacks of his eyelids. He looked a thousand years weary and hadn't slept in two weeks.

"I will not burden the Leaf with my sleeping habits. They are our allies, not our genie. If I cannot solve my sleeping problem without their help how will it look to the other nations?"

"But if you're unable to function as Kazekage then it becomes their problem." Kankuro cut in. Gaara gave him a level look.

"If I am unable to function as Kazekage then I will resign."

He was inhumanly still. Agitated. Kankuro matched his cold stare, but his was softer. More telling. He never could properly sneer at him anymore. Turning away, he stirred his stew with one finger. Temari drank her broth slowly, decidedly not being the one to break the ice this time. If she wasn't so stubborn and if Kankuro wasn't so tactless and Gaara wasn't so curt… If if if.

The food turned sour in her mouth as she looked down the side of that sheer cliff they carved out with their dinner conversations. There was bound to be disaster if they continued like this. To resign as Kazekage was an unspoken option, an unheard of failure. To have one's face peeled off by a traitor and left in a ditch was not comparable. She decided, when Kankuro's talk of his students managed to lighten the mood, to take matters into her own hands.


End file.
